


Freeing Frank

by torestoreamends



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Gen, Pre-Canon, Pre-Movie 1: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-25
Updated: 2016-11-25
Packaged: 2018-09-02 05:20:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8652514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/torestoreamends/pseuds/torestoreamends
Summary: Newt finds the Thunderbird caged and bound, somewhere in the Egyptian desert, and he knows he can’t just leave him. This is the story of how Newt liberates Frank from the traffickers.





	

**Author's Note:**

> While I was watching the film I really loved how Newt interacted with Frank in particular. They clearly had a very special bond, and it seemed obvious that the first Fantastic Beasts fic I should write would be about the origins of that. 
> 
> Thanks to brief_and_dreamy and Abradystrix for betaing.

It's raining. Hard, hot rain that drums down into the dust and stirs it up into mud. Overhead, thick, dark clouds blot out the moon and stars. Bolts of lightning burst across the sky, and in the distance one strikes a drought-cracked tree. The horizon glows red as flames struggle to take hold in the rain, and smoke begins to billow out across the desert. 

In a clump of bushes, Newt lies still and silent. He doesn't react to the rain or the fire or the peals of thunder that roll out across the plan. He's barely noticed any of it as anything other than circumstance and potential distraction. All his focus is on one point, a little way away across the ground from his bushes. The source of the storm.

The Thunderbird is caged right in the middle of the camp. It thrashes and roars, trying to break free, but the metal bars are unyielding. As it flaps its wings and hurls itself at the side of the cage, another fork of lightning flashes across the sky, and the loudest rumble of thunder yet bursts and echoes outward. Even that isn't loud enough to drown out its terrified, pained screams. 

As Newt watches, one of the tents opens up and a man comes stumbling out. He has a wand in his hand and he points it at the distressed bird, gabbling something in Arabic. Newt doesn't understand what he's saying, but he understands the tone of voice and the body language. Angry. Threatening. Unpredictable. 

The bird shrieks again and struggles harder, trying to get away, but it can't go anywhere. All the noise seems to be making the man lose patience. He shouts louder, then waves his wand and there's a crack. Red light lashes across the bird's beak and up its face and it gives a cry of pain and thrashes with its wings. The man waves his wand again and barks a spell that makes burning golden ropes tie the bird fast, binding its beak; pinning its wings so it falls still and silent to the ground.

Newt's grip tightens on his own wand and he tenses. He knew they were probably hurting the bird, but he hasn't caught them in the act before. This means he has to act faster. There isn't time to hang around.

The bird has stopped roaring now. It can't make much noise with its beak bound, although it is still making a crying, keening sound. The thunder has stopped too, now its wings are restrained and it's been taken out of the air. It's lying on its side, a pitiful huddle on the floor of its cage. The man must be satisfied with this, because he says a few last words, then turns and walks away, back to his tent. 

The fabric flap falls shut behind him, and Newt raises himself off the ground, takes hold of his case, and prepares to sprint forward. This is the time to act. 

But as he's about to launch himself forward a click distracts him and he glances down. One of the latches on the case has fallen open. He reaches out to flick it closed, then pulls the case close to him and bends right down next to it. 

"Dougal," he says in a low, warning voice. "Behave." The case wobbles, then goes still. He pats the top of it. "Thank you. This is important." 

He looks back at the camp, which remains still and as quiet as it's going to get with the restrained bird crying mournfully at its heart. No more time for hesitation. He seizes the suitcase, breaks free of the bushes, and starts running across the open ground, keeping as low as he possibly can.

Although the storm has calmed considerably, it is still raining. Droplets pound down onto the desert, plastering Newt's hair to his head and soaking through his waistcoat and shirt, dripping down his bare forearms, making his shoes squelch as he runs. In the distance the lightning struck tree is still smouldering, smudging the sky with grey and red, and lighting up the uneven, rocky terrain.

When Newt reaches the camp he slows his pace and tiptoes across toward the bird's cage. The camp is very still. Everything is quiet. Everyone should be asleep now, but Newt's done this too many times to trust that nothing will go wrong. Creatures are a law unto themselves, and humans are the worst of the lot. 

He sees the moment the Thunderbird notices him. As he gets close to the cage it spots his shadow, and then golden, intelligent eyes lock onto him. The bird strains against its bonds, which fizzle, painful and burning against feathers and flesh. 

"It's okay," Newt says, creeping out of the shadows, keeping himself small and non-threatening, never making eye contact, head bowed slightly. "I'm not going to hurt you. I'm going to free you." 

The bird wriggles again, but not quite as much. It's still watching him intently, following his every movement. It knows what danger looks like and it's clearly assessing whether Newt fits that definition. 

When he reaches the cage, Newt very slowly and carefully draws his wand, keeping it as close to himself as he can. Wands are a sign of threat, a sign of impending pain, and he doesn't want the bird to be afraid of him, so he keeps it where the bird can't see. He hides the wand behind his back and directs it at the heavy padlock on the cage door.

"Alohomora," he whispers.

The lock rattles open, and Newt stuffs his wand back into his pocket before pulling the padlock free and swinging the door open. The hinges are a little rusty, and it creaks, painfully loud in the silent night. Newt freezes, heart in his mouth, listening intently.

The rain patters. The bird makes a kind of soft, anxious crooning. The camp is still. 

Convinced they're safe, Newt takes a breath. He pushes the door the rest of the way open, and kneels on the very threshold of the cage. 

"Hello," he says, to the bird voice low and steady, perfectly calm. "I'm here to free you." 

The bird blinks and lies still.

"That's it." Newt reaches his hand behind his back, pulling his wand out once more. "I'm going to take you back where you belong. You shouldn't be here. You deserve better. I'm going to take you home." 

The bird blinks again and still doesn't move. 

Newt raises his eyes for a moment to look at it properly. It must be one of the most majestic creatures he's seen, even in this state with its feathers bent and broken, and lacerations across its beak and face. Even now gold flecks still shimmer through its facial feathers, its beak is still sharp and dangerous, it still holds its head with pride, its tail feathers still switch back and forth across the floor.

How anyone could harm it he will never understand, but he does know why people like to own Thunderbirds. People want them for their magic, for their mythology. The status of owning something so glorious. Of having defeated it. Humans find a value in tearing down the incredible beings of this world and crushing them. It makes them feel like conquering heroes, and that makes Newt feel sick. 

"Do you have a name?" He asks, lowering his eyes again and giving his wand the tiniest of flicks behind his back. "Emancipare," he murmurs, and the bonds around the bird's beak vanish.

The bird immediately lets out a piercing shriek, and Newt winces. 

"Is that a no?" He puts the wand between his teeth and quickly rummages through the pockets of his waistcoat. There are some chunks of meat in there and he pulls a handful out and tosses them across to the bird. "Frank, then. I think you look like a Frank. I knew a Frank at school..." 

The bird eyes him for a moment, then snaffles up the bits of meat, and Newt smiles. He'll take that as approval. 

"Frank," he says. "I'm going to free your wings. I know you're going to try to blow me away, but if you wanted to lie still it would save us both an awful lot of hassle." 

Frank ignores him, still swallowing down chunks of meat.

Newt sighs. "Alright. Here we go, then." He waves his wand again, the tiniest movement he can manage. "Emancipare." The golden bonds fall away from Frank's wings and melt into nothingness. 

There's a moment of stillness before Frank realises he's free, then he stretches forward to reach for another bit of meat and his wings shift. He turns his head, ruffles his feathers experimentally, and when he finds they're free he takes off with a screech. He hurls himself toward the open door of the cage, but misjudges and hits the bars. Overhead there's a loud crack of thunder, and lightning streaks once more from the dark sky.

"Alright," Newt calls up to the bird. "Just as I expected. We'll do it the-" he breaks off as he hears movement, then shouting from inside the tents. A second later people start fighting their way past the fabric flaps, in various states of undress but all clutching wands. "-The really hard way." 

The first spell hits the bars of the cage, sparking silver. Newt ducks instinctively, and Frank panics. His wings beat a hurricane that batters Newt onto the ground, and he screeches and thrashes his tail feathers. The wizards all around yell to each other and brandish their wands, closing in in a menacing ring. Newt lifts his head, struggling in the buffeting winds, and doesn't know where to go. He can't put himself between Frank and the traffickers because he can't be everywhere at once. The best he can do is to block the doorway; at least that way no one can get in.

It takes a considerable effort to push himself off the floor and stagger through the storm to stand in the cage entrance. Spells flash all around him and he has to duck several. One terrifyingly bright green streak of light goes flying right at Frank, and he tries to cast a shield to deflect it but misses. Thankfully Frank rises a foot or so with a downbeat of his wings, and the spell flies past. The air is a confusion of shouting and shrieking and thunder, and if his heart is pounding this hard with terror he can't imagine how Frank must be feeling. They have to get out of here. If they stay too much longer someone is going to get hurt. 

In the doorway to the cage he kneels down and puts the case on the floor, rain slick fingers fumbling as he undoes the latches and opens it up. "Come on, Frank!" His voice is lost in the storm, and Frank is panicking now, wings flailing, throwing himself against the top and sides of the cage to try and escape. 

As Newt looks up, a jet of red light streaks across one of Frank's wings, searing the tips of his feathers. He drops onto the floor of the cage with a screech.

"Don't hurt the bird," someone shouts in American accented English. "It's too valuable. Kill the man!" 

Newt looks around wildly, expecting to suddenly be blasted with twenty different killing curses, but either the crowd didn't hear, or they didn't understand, or their spell work is incredibly shoddy, because nothing changes in the maelstrom of curses flying everywhere. It's a relief in a way, but at the same time he'd rather be the target of the spells if it would protect Frank. 

His mind races and he keeps his head low, trying to work out what to do. Whatever happens he needs to attract Frank's attention, and he needs to get him into the case. He only hopes there aren't anti-apparition wards around this camp or he's really in trouble. 

In the end there's only one way he can think of to get Frank to focus on him. He cups his hands around his mouth and lets out a shrieking cry. It carries over the cracks of magic, the boom of thunder, and pounding of the rain. Frank's head snaps round to look at him, and Newt cries out again. 

Some of the panic has stopped now. Frank seems steadier in the air, more focused. He's ignoring the magic around him and fixing his steely gaze right on Newt. This is good. Perhaps having a Thunderbird look at you this way wouldn't be most people's idea of a good thing, but it's exactly what he'd intended.

He plunges his hand into the pocket of his waistcoat and pulls out the last bits of meat. 

"Food, Frank," he calls, holding them up. 

Frank shrieks, clicking his beak, eyes locked onto the meat in Newt's hand. Newt nods encouragingly.

"That's it. Come here." He shifts closer to the case. "This isn't a cage, it's-" he ducks as a spell shoots right at his head. "It's safe. I'm going to take you home. Come on, now. You don't really want to stay out here with all these people, do you?" He holds the bits of meat hopefully over the entrance to the case, and Frank watches them. 

Newt has eyes only for the bird now. It's as if the people still moving in and shooting spells are irrelevant, even though every flash of spell-work makes his heart race. Occasionally he'll instinctively duck a burst of light coming at him, but he doesn't care what hits him. He isn't important. Frank is. 

Slowly, far too slowly, the bird inches forward. He seems wary of Newt, and of the case, but he's coming for the food, and Newt nods. 

"That's right. Nothing to worry about. Nearly there. Nearly-" 

Frank lands, steps toward the case, lowers his head, and as he reaches for the food he starts to shrink. Newt lets the food fall down onto the patch of plain he'd set up ready for Frank, then he picks the case up and slides it over him. Frank disappears, and Newt snaps the case shut.

All around, the spells cease and the wizards cry out in astonishment and anger at the bird being gone. Newt doesn't wait so much as a second to watch their reactions develop into full on fury. He snatches the case off the ground, seizes hold of his wand, and turns into crushing darkness. 

  


He stumbles across the floor of his upstairs room, setting the case on the table, then whirling round to make sure the doors and windows are locked and all the wards are up. Once he's in the case he's vulnerable, they're all vulnerable, and although it's next to impossible for anyone to have followed him, he isn't about to take the risk. 

He checks and double checks every latch, tapping them to ensure they're magically locked too. Not even Alohomora will break through. He checks the wards too, running a hand and his wand through the air to look for any breaks. He doesn't find any.

Satisfied, he returns to the business of the Thunderbird. He puts the case on the floor, opens it up, and steps inside. It springs shut behind him as he scrambles down the ladder into low light and a cacophony of noise. 

Thunder and lightning. Rain. Frank shrieking. It pounds against his ears as he grabs a couple of buckets full of freshly prepared meat and goes running. 

At the edge of Frank's area he stops dead and puts the bucket down. 

"I'm here!" He calls over the noise. A blast of wind knocks him back and he crouches down, one arm over his head. "I'm not going to hurt you. I want to heal you. I'm going to feed you, and then I'll leave you. I promise I just want to help." 

Slowly, carefully he advances. He keeps as low to the ground as he can, small and non-threatening. Up in the cloudy sky, Frank holds steady, and Newt risks a quick glance up at him. There's blood staining the feathers of his face. Lacerations criss-cross his beak, and his flanks and wings are littered with painful looking scorch marks and bent feathers from being bound. 

When Newt gets close enough he ducks his head and holds a hand up in Frank's direction, sneaking surreptitious glances skywards. "Come on," he murmurs. "I'm not going to hurt you. You come to me." 

It takes several minutes of stand off between them, Frank flapping up in the sky, Newt standing perfectly still, murmuring encouragement. Then finally, all in a rush, there's a beat of wings and a whoosh of wind and Frank lands. The sky clears of clouds and rain and lightning, and Newt dares to look up. He's face to face with the Thunderbird, and his heart is pounding with excitement.

"Hello, Frank," he says quietly, and the bird bows his head. "This is going to be your home for a bit. Just a little while, until we can get you to Arizona. I hope that's okay." Frank shifts his feet on the rock he's alighted on. Huge, sharp, curved talons scratch against the stone, and Newt smiles. "Very impressive." 

He turns and picks up the bucket of meat, throwing a few bits to Frank, who lunges up into the air to catch them. He tips the rest out on the ground, and Frank lands and unfurls his wings to shield them while he eats. 

Newt takes advantage of Frank's temporary distraction to draw his wand and start muttering spells that unbend feathers, knit together cuts, and repair scorch marks. The lacerations across Frank's beak are tricky to repair, especially when he's moving, but Newt does the best he can. After a couple of minutes' work they've faded to faint, silver scars that are visible up close but don't look nearly as awful as they once did.

Thankfully Frank doesn't seem to mind the magic. He tosses his head and shifts his wings about, but doesn't take off again. If anything he seems to relax a little with the healing, like all the tension is melting from him along with the pain and discomfort. It helps that he's so concentrated on eating, and that seems his only priority at the moment. Newt wonders how long it's been since he was properly fed. 

He perches on the edge of the rock and turns his head to watch the bird eat, staying as still as he can, not wanting to disturb him. "I hope this is better," he says quietly. "I think anything would be better than what they did to you out there. Taking you out of the wild, and-" He shakes his head and twists his fingers together. "I'm going to take you back, Frank. Not straight away. I can't go straight away. But soon, I promise. I'll take you back to your family."

He looks up at Frank, who has finished eating and is now preening, all his feathers fluffed up. "Do you remember your family? Do you remember your home? It must have been a long time since you saw them last. But people always say distance makes the heart grow fonder." He bows his head and gives a soft, slightly mirthless little huff of laughter. "I don't know if it's the same for birds." 

For a moment silence stretches out, broken only by the ruffling and scratching of Frank's feathers and claws and beak. Newt stares down at his hands and swings his feet. "Your home must feel like freedom. All that wide open space for flying..." He looks up at the bird, then away again, shaking his head. "Sometimes I wish I could be one of you. I don't think you have it any easier, but there's something to be said for just being able to go along with the natural order of things. Humans, we make things difficult for ourselves and for everyone else. We think too much. We make the wrong decisions. We hurt others... I'm sorry we hurt you. I hope I can make up for that, make things right for you. I hope I can-" 

He breaks off as he feels something touch his back. Very cautiously he glances up to see Frank nudging his beak against his shoulder, a little shiver of golden light passing along his feathers as he does so. 

"Well, hello," Newt says, in quiet surprise and delight. Slowly he turns and reaches up a hand to touch Frank's beak. The bird shies away a couple of inches, and Newt freezes. "Okay, it's okay. I don't have to touch if-" Frank pushes his beak against Newt's hand. Newt grins. "Yes, hello. Glad to make your acquaintance, Frank." 

He strokes the bird's beak, careful to avoid the newly healed scars, and he feels relief flood through him for the first time. The bird is safe, safe in the case where no one can harm him. The traffickers aren't gone but it'll take them a long time to organise for a new capture, and Newt is confident he can be ready when it does. In the meantime, he has a new friend to make. 

"And we are going to be friends," he says quietly, looking up and admiring the golden sheen of happiness rolling through Frank's feathers, "aren't we, Frank?" 

The bird gives a soft purr of approval, feathers all fluffed up, bathed in the bright silver moonlight of his new almost-but-not-quite home. 


End file.
